Amazon.com Widgets
I’m not mad.  Really.

About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I live in Austin, Texas, with my partner, Ray, and our child dog, Mocha. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

Tag: ‘eating’



Den eneste bøsse i landsbyen

Monday, December 14th, 2009

I got my first hit from Greenland today!  (We’ve discussed my inner stats whore earlier, so never mind that creepy bit.)

See, there it is on Mint:

stats1

What on earth brought my Greenlandic visitor to my site?  Well, I click on the little icon and I discover that what’s on the minds of today’s Greenlanders is:

stats2

A la Dr. Evil: Riiiiiight.

I get my first hit from Greenland, and it’s someone looking for gay porn.  Fabulous.

Well, then I got to thinking.  Like most of the rest of the world, what I know about Greenland is as follows: it’s not as big as it looks on maps, being the main victim of distortion put about by the Mercator projection.  It’s ruled by Denmark, as I have known from the fifth grade when we had to research it as a class project after several of us more literate types questioned our teacher when she said it was an independent country while the map in our social studies book clearly labeled it as a possession of Denmark.

Oh, and there’s some sort of asteroid on the west coast that could power the universe if only extraterrestrial worms weren’t eating peoples’ brains.  I got that last by reading Smilla’s Sense of Snow (the book being far, far better than the movie which now airs regularly on Lifetime as part of their court ordered Julia Ormond quota).  I also recall something about Greenland having low humidity (“I’ve been colder in Denmark than I ever have in Greenland”), a high rate of both alcoholism and suicide (has something to do with the long hours of night in the winter–as I recall Smilla’s brother had committed suicide), and Greenlanders being rather resentful of their forced inclusion into the Greater Danish Sphere (Smilla herself being a prime example).

And since I’m sure that author Peter Høeg is an expert on Greenland, this must all be correct…

Nuuk_night

So, I pulled it up on the Interwebz, and I discovered that Nuuk (formerly Godthåb) is one of the smallest capital cities in the world by population–right around 18,000, which comprises one quarter of Greenland’s entire population.

Which leads me to the following thought: no wonder my Greenlandic visitor was seeking out gay porn on the Internet.  The most accessible gay bar is in Copenhagen–six hours away by plane (among my other random knowledge is that it is far, far easier to fly from Greenland to Denmark than to either Canada or the U.S., even though they’re closer).  Can you imagine what it must be like trying to find a date on a Friday night?

One can imagine the drama that would ensue in the small dating pool: everyone knows everyone else’s business, that’s for sure.  Plus, it’s that part of the year when there are a scant few hours of daylight.  Who wouldn’t want to hang around the house and surf the Interwebz?

Nuuk_snow

Sure offers a new lens to the concept of being the only gay in the village, don’t it?  (BTW, the title of the post is “the only gay in the village” rendered into Danish by Google translate, and I’d be happy to change it if a real Dane happens by and wants to correct it … )

*photos by Peter Løvstrøm.  Used under a Creative Commons Attribution license.

LiveBlogging the Great Blizzard of 2009

Friday, December 4th, 2009

Given the extensive coverage the topic has received in major international outlets such as the Austin American-Statesman and KUT-FM radio, I’m sure that you are all aware of the impending blizzard that is set to descend upon the ATX later this morning (assuming the weathermen didn’t get it wrong, again).  In case you’ve been hiding under a rock, here’s the skinny: there is a 60% chance that we may receive up to an inch of snow today.

Naturally, this news has caused panic among some weaker willed individuals.  The University of Texas, for example, felt compelled to issue a pre-emptive notice yesterday afternoon reminding everyone that classes had not yet been canceled, but urged us to check the University’s emergency line before proceeding to work tomorrow for the latest updates.

As you know, here at ROHK we strive for journalistic and culinary excellence of a higher standard, and so, I am sacrificing my own well-being to bring you the latest news about the event that I am sure will be recorded in the annals of history as The Great Blizzard of 2009.

Do check back regularly for updates.

Friday, December 4, 2009

6:10 am: Wake up, get dressed.  In honor of the impending cold snap, I search for a clean sweater, and eventually discover one that my parents bought me for Christmas some years ago.  It was clearly purchased before they moved to Texas because, even before I lost the 10 pounds, it was still at least one size too large and makes me look like a mustard colored burlap sack.  However, today we are going with function above form, following the trend set by world-famous survivalist Jake Gyllenehaal in the documentary film The Day After Tomorrow:

jake-gyllenhaal-london-hat

See?  If Jake can sport an outfit that reveals no muscle definition whatsoever, so can I.

6:54 am: Sitting outside of Beverly’s house.  It takes her longer than usual to come out to get in the car this morning, because she is clearly working up the nerve to set forth in the malstrøm and dodge the sunbeams that are beginning to fall outside.

7:10 am: Realizing that I am driving too fast for conditions, I reduce my speed to 72 miles per hour (114 km/h).  This adds at least 2 minutes to my commuting time this morning, but it’s important to drive safe!  Arrive alive!

7:26 am: Walking from the garage to campus.  It is chilly this morning.  The guy who’s not homeless but wants everyone to think he is who usually sets up behind Einstein’s Bagels is nowhere to be seen.  I hope that he has managed to find a shelter for the not-homeless-but-wanting-others-to-think-they-are.

7:35 am: In the office.  It was a tough last sprint across the West Mall to my building, what with the grounds services golf carts whizzing by, but I did make it here.  Lisa has already begun prepping for the cold weather by cleaning out the oven, which has been left a mess by a previous user/staff member.  This is very wise of her — clearly we may need the electric stove as a heating device if the power goes out once the deluge has begun.

7:55 am: Typing these words.  Outside the window, I can see that it is cloudy.  This is clearly a very bad sign — much worse than it has been on every other cloudy day this week.

8:15 am: The men with the leafblowers are out in the pass-through between my building and the next (which once served as the setting for Café d’Amour in the first Spy Kids movie).  Clearly they have been apprised of the danger that can result from snow falling on top of leaves.  I’m not sure what it is, myself, but as landscaping professionals, it’s their job to know these things.

8:28 am: Discover that emergency provisions are already stocked in the front office: two bags of Chips Ahoy™ and one of Pecan Sandies™.  Skeptics may suggest that they are, in fact, left over from Professor E’s final-class-of-the-year celebration yesterday, but that’s just crazy talk.  Lisa continues preparation of baked goods for this afternoon’s Survivalist Training/Birthday Celebration.

9:14 am: Correction: Provisions are one bag of Chips Ahoy™ and two bags of Pecan Sandies™.  Please make a note of this. This is, of course, in addition to the banana bread that Lisa has made, along with the molasses cookies that are apparently on schedule to be made at noon.

Looking out the office window, I can see that we now have a lower cloud cover than we did earlier.  Possibly this is due to the impending snow.  Possibly this is due to the arrival of the alien/Snuggie™ vanguard that I described in yesterday’s post.  Will investigate further.

The Statesman is reporting that “some” snow flurries have been seen in some parts of Central Texas, and that San Antonio may see a light dusting.  I shall keep the brave people of San Antonio in my prayers.

9:28 am: Discover that #Austinsnow is now being hashed on Twitter.  I have to join Twitter to do this, but the feed is too damned amusing not to share:


10:07 am: Take a break from perusing postings about the first harbingers of wintery doom–is Skol preparing to eat the sun and invoke the long winter known as Fimbulvetr?–to notice that the clouds are looking far more sinister now than they did an hour ago.  At least a five on the Scale of Sinistry, up from a four and a half.

Kim suggests that the gravity of the situation requires that the word “aught” be worked into the title, and that we should refer to this as the “Great Blizzard of Aught-Nine.”  What say you?

10:15 am: Realize that I left my iPod in my car.  In the movies, the guy who goes back for something never, ever lives until the end.  (Well, except in the Final Destination movies, but then Death spends the whole movie trying to catch up.)  Not falling for it.  Take that, Law of Murphy!

11:13 am: Fear not, dear readers!  I remain as fervently committed to bringing you updates as they develop.

It has transpired that one of the bags of Pecan Sandies™ has been devoured by inconsiderate coworkers who do not realize the strategic value that they will play in our survival should the worst be realized and we become stranded in the building.  An investigation with possible court martial is under way.

According to #Austinsnow, the earlier rogue flakes have abated.  We remain poised for a resurgence.

It is very cold in my office.  Am contemplating putting on gloves.

11:32 am: Confirm with Ray that he made it to work safely.  Breathe sigh of relief.

11:47 am: Cabin fever has clearly set in amongst the staff.  Food is being anthropomorphised:

apple

Also, the Chips Ahoy™ are stale.  We will put them on the back burner for now.

12:12 pm: Hearing Christmas carols being sung on the West Mall.  Assume there’s irony involved in any song mentioning snow.  The Statesman is now claiming that the snow is “on the way,” downgraded from the “it’s already falling” that we got earlier.

Am off to dodge air molecules on the way to find lunch.  Pray for me.

12:26 pm: Back from acquiring food.  Bitter cold, grey skies, no snow.

There was, however, a young man in front of Goldsmith Hall wearing what is either a very large paper boat or a paper papal hat on his head.  Not sure what the purpose is, other than to make people stop and stare.  Which we did.

12:37 pm: Have met the first person today who claims to have seen at least several snowflakes.  There is much praising of his survival instincts.  He has clearly suffered emotional trauma (but not enough to get me to cancel the panel presentation in 23 minutes in which he is supposed to deliver a talk in Persian).

12:53 pm: Ray calls to tell me that it is “snowing heavily” in Round Rock.  The office moves to Defcom 2 in preparation for the snow to begin falling.

12:57 pm: SNOW!!!!!!  There’s at least 15 flakes out there.

1:05 pm: Photographic evidence that the onslaught has begun:

snow

It’s kind of hard to see, but you can definitely tell if you look under the trees.  There’s a small possibility that some of it’s dust on the window that I shot through, but some of it is definitely snow flakes.

1:47 pm: And now the sun’s out.

1:51 pm: The Statesman is now reporting that winter weather advisory that had been issued for today … has been canceled.

I didn’t even get to go out in it: I’m trapped in my office because there’s a lecture going on outside.  Poop.  On the other hand, it’s a nice sunny day now!  And I left my sunglasses at home.

2:43 pm: My journalistic efforts have been foiled by the final presentations of one of the Persian classes going on in the room outside my office, however, I assure you, I will continue to cover the story until my last breath.  Or until it’s time to go home for the day, one or the other.

2:56 pm: BREAKING NEWS: the baked goods that have been added to the stockpile of supplies in the office include banana bread, chocolate ginger cookies, and both Irish and English breakfast tea.

I have learned from this blizzard that the primary difference between Irish and English breakfast tea is that the former is caffeinated, the latter is not.  (At least, that’s according to the HEB in-store brand — I can’t help thinking that’s not actually correct, but I’m not a tea-o-phile, so can not confirm.)

I have also learned that the air filter on the LCD projector needs to be changed.  I didn’t know it had an air filter and that it could be changed.  Things our sales reps forgot to tell us.  I wonder if this will affect the quality of the breathable oxygen in the event that we become trapped up here.  There are at least two clouds that I don’t like the look of visible from where I’m sitting right now, and that’s before I turn my head too much.  I have a feeling this isn’t over yet, dagnabbit.

3:36 pm: I am startled to see that there is ice buildup on the roof of Goldsmith Hall, which I can see from my office window.  It’s blue and shimmery and … oh, wait.  It’s someone’s jacket.  In fact, now that I look at the photo I took at 1:05, I can see that it was there then, too.

Never mind.

4:07 pm: Whoa!  I’ve gone viral — 600 hits in the past two hours.  Who knew?  The pressure’s on!  (OK, I know I’m supposed to be all Ocean’s 11-style cool and act like this is so <yawn> boring, but I’m just a touch too neurotic for that).

In weather related news, we’re holding at 39 degrees F / 3 degrees C with bright, practically cloudless skies.  I do so hope that the roads have been plowed and salted before I head home–I’d hate to drive in unsafe conditions.  My palms get a little sweaty just thinking about it.

4:23 pm: Time to start powering things down and head out into the wilds.  I shall check in again once I have arrived in the wilds of Round Rock, across the moors of Pflugerville and the towering craggy peaks of Tarrytown.

Stay strong, fellow commuters!  Man shall always persevere over Mother Nature.  (I mean, just look at the Domain.)

4:35 pm: On leaving the building, I see the measures that my fellow Austinites have gone to in order to protect themselves from the blustery weather.  One young fellow is wearing a dark suit, but has elected for the protection of white athletic socks.  Clearly, desperate times call for desperate measures.  Later, I will see another young man so affected by the cold weather that he has had to pull his boardshorts down in order to cover his mid-calf, exposing a considerable amount of plaid boxer short above the waistline.  I feel for him.

4:50 pm: Apparently, the snow has caused a short circuit in the gate at the parking garage.  One poor woman sits there with a line of cars behind her, and is finally forced to back up and go to the pay station in order to make her ticket work.  It’s very sad that such desperate measures need to be taken in order to complete such mundane tasks.

5:02 pm: MoPac expressway.  Cars moving much slower than the posted speed limit.  Possibly due to the weather.  I can think of no other reason why traffic heading north out of Austin would be moving so slowly at 5 pm on a Friday afternoon, especially the weekend before the Red River Shootout in Dallas.  It just boggles the mind.

5:35 pm: I  arrive home and begin searching for things to cover the plants in order to protect them from tonight’s deep freeze.  I now have a basket full of habanero peppers (seriously, what am I going to do with so many habaneros?  I might have to make salsa for the office Chrismukkah gifts.  But, oh no, I’ve said too much.

5:45 pm: I send Ray out to Home Depot so that I can wrap the Christmas gifts that came in the mail today.  I hope they didn’t get wet.

6:03 pm: Gifts wrapped, Ray happily off at Home Depot, I sit in front of the television, open my laptop, and blog this, the last of my updates.  At 6 pm, the winter weather advisory has expired, and I, for one, am considering myself very lucky–very lucky indeed–to have managed to survive the Great Blizzard of 2009.

LiveBlogging has now ended.  Please remain seated until the vehicle has come to a complete stop.  Don’t forget to search under the seat in front and in the overhead bins of you for any belongings you may have brought on board, and have a nice day in town, or wherever your final destination may be.  Drive safe!

Man, it’s been a shitty month

Friday, November 6th, 2009

The stars need to realign, now, please. This is going to be a lengthy post. Grab a cuppa and sit down.

Let me recap the last week for you.

Thursday

Thursday afternoon, I went up to Dallas to go to a conference. We go to this conference every year, and it’s good for us on a business level.  It is, however, a clusterfuck year after year, because every year a new host committee takes over and there’s no continuity between the years.  In other words, there are no lessons learned from year to year, so if something goes wrong one year, it’s just as likely to go wrong the next.

We always have an exhibit booth.  The chair of the exhibits has proven, year after year, to be the least competent member of the team.  This year was particularly bad.  I don’t know why certain concepts are so difficult — send an acknowledgement when you get my check? — but they are.  The communication this year was a gem: every message from the exhibit guy started the same way: “Exhibitors: Dave here.  Checking in about things.”  Are we in the military?  Did DADT get repealed when I wasn’t looking?

So, we arrive at the exhibit hall to find that the extra table that I ordered wasn’t there, and that the actual exhibition company had no record of the order.  Neither did four of the five people at the exhibit booth have name badges, even though I sent them to “Dave” when he asked for them.  Interestingly enough, I had two name badges for myself, apparently in case I brought along my evil twin with the same name.

The actual conference itself went fine, once we learned that we couldn’t actually rely on the exhibit team for anything and learned to troubleshoot stuff ourselves.

Cut to …

Saturday

My session, which I was presenting by myself, was the last session of the day at a teacher’s conference … on Halloween.  So, I considered the 17 people who turned up a blessing.  It wasn’t my best presentation, but they seemed to enjoy it, so wah.  Natalie and I were driving back together — the other two members of our consortium had pulled rank because they have small children and needed to get home for trick-or-treating.  I packed up my stuff and left the room, wondering where Natalie would be, since I hadn’t actually arranged this in advance.  I found her standing at a table not far away, with her cell phone in her hand and a confused look on her face.

“I just got the strangest call from Sue,” she said.  “Neguinho just died.”

Neguinho do Samba was a musician from Salvador da Bahia, in northeast Brazil, who is probably best known in these United States as being the founder of the samba-reggae movement, and one of the founders of OLODUM, the drum corps featured heavily on Paul Simon’s album The Rhythm of the Saints and in the video for Michael Jackson’s They Don’t Care About Us.  (If you click through to the video, Neguinho is the guy in the green shirt with the white hat and long hair leading the drum corps.)  More recently, Neguinho founded Banda Didá, the first all-female drum corps in Salvador, which focuses its work among lower-class, black women (Salvador being the most African of Brazilian cities).

Natalie met Neguinho and his partner Viviam in 2004 when she took a group to Salvador for a month long seminar, and has been working with Didá extensively since then.  She brought them up for a residency a couple of years ago, and she’s been back to Salvador several times, always spending part of the trip with Neguinho and Viviam.  She was planning another seminar for the summer that would work more exclusively with Didá (and I had already invited myself along).

I met Neguinho once — literally, “Hi, nicetameetcha” — and I was shocked, to say nothing of Natalie and her friend Sue, both of whom have cultivated a close working relationship with Didá over the years. Sue had been contacted by a friend who saw the ambulance pull up at Neguinho’s house in the Pelourinho and heard the news from Neguinho’s daughter, who was with him when he died, and she had called Natalie right after with little more information than that.

I wound up driving home so that Natalie could make and receive phone calls from various people — and there were various people calling from as far away as São Paulo.

Cut to …

Monday

I took Monday off, partly because of the conference, but mostly because Mom had asked me to go with her while Dad had eye surgery.

Backstory: a couple of weeks ago, I called Mom on a night when (unbeknownst to me), Dad was back in Columbus doing a training session for a group up there.  She mentioned that she had had an ocular migraine.

“Oh, yes,” said I.  “I’ve had those.”

Lemme ‘splain if you’re not familiar: a migraine is a constricting of the blood vessels in the head.  The most common is the type that involves the constricting of blood vessels around the brain, which causes the massive pain that most people associate with migraines.  However, it can also happen in the eye, which tends not to involve pain.  Instead, you get a bright flashy light that devolves into a ring that looks like the “marching caterpillars” you get whenever you select something in Photoshop.  The ring usually widens out–now, here’s the tricky bit.  Until the migraine wears off (usually about an hour or so), you have only peripheral vision functioning, giving you the bizarre sensation of not seeing things that you’re looking directly at.

Over the course of this conversation, it transpired that she had been having these daily.  “Have you seen the doctor?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “my GP is on vacation, but I’m going to see the eye doctor again.”

Anyway, the reason this is relevant is that Mom wanted me around on the day of the surgery in case she had another one and wasn’t able to drive.  And, sure enough, while we were sitting at the house getting ready to leave for the surgery center, she had another one and Dad had to drive to his own surgery.

While we were waiting, I asked about the doctor visit.  “Well, my GP is still on vacation, but my eye doctor wants me to get an MRI.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” I said.

So we went back to the surgery center and we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Dad’s surgery was scheduled for 2, and it was supposed to take an hour.  At 4:05, Mom went to the front desk because no one had told us a bloody thing.

“Oh,” said the receptionist (who, I might add, had the sort of personality and work ethic that makes Amanda from Ugly Betty look like a superstar), “they’re in surgery now.  The doctor is running late.”

When we finally got to see the doctor (4:30), he apologized and said that the surgeon who had booked the room in the morning had overrun his schedule by 2 hours.  “They should have let you know that,” he said, “I gave them strict instructions.” — thus sending my opinion of the receptionist through the sub-basement.

We finally got out of there around 5:15, just in time to sit in rush hour traffic and take an hour to get them back home.

Tuesday and Wednesday

Tuesday morning I came in to work, started my e-mail, and realized that I wanted to leave again immediately.

I’m on a volunteer committee that seems to be as determined as possible to make things as complicated as humanly possible for no other reason than they can.  Furthermore, I’m not really supposed to be running it — I agreed to be co-chair this year with the idea of easing in my replacement, but somehow it still seems like I’ve done all the work.  So, there was that drama.

I’m also working on a project here at work that I’ve been co-opted into, that doesn’t particularly interest me, and that I’ve been dragging my feet on.  I’d been asked to comment on a working document, and every time I open it up, it’s the closest I think I’ve ever come to what some guys refer to as “thinking of nothing.”  I remind me of Steve from Coupling, trying to pick out sofa covers.  “I almost had an opinion about that one.”

And the annoying keeps on coming.  Budget cuts.  Everyone is tense.  People are getting laid off.  If I don’t have someone coming into my office to ask me how to do something that’s not part of my job (“I know, but you’re so good at explaining things.”), I’ve got someone wanting to know what I know about who might get laid off (absolutely nothing), and the occasional student who wants to stop by and have a lengthy conversation about life, the universe, and everything.  Normally I welcome all of this, but right now, I just can’t take it.

I’ve been working with my door closed a lot.

Thursday

Thursday continues much the same as Tuesday and Wednesday.  I’m running another exhibit booth next weekend in Atlanta, and the person I’m supposed to be organizing it with … we’re on the same page.  I think one of us is writing with charcoal, and the other is writing with one of those oversized clown pencils, though.

I finally escape from the office and get home with the intention of laying waste to the pork chops that I made Ray buy the other night.  I just got my Cook’s Illustrated annual, and I started laying out the stuff to make crunchy pork chops (they’re yummy).

I had meant to call my parents on Wednesday night to see how everyone was doing, but Mom doesn’t like it when I call from the car (my therapist is in South Austin, and the drive home takes about 45 minutes — it’s a good time for long phone calls to anyone except them), even though my new car stereo is now bluetooth equipped, meaning that it’s hands free in the truest sense.  I don’t even have to take my phone out of my pocket.

This was funny because when I called and Dad answered, I had the vent hood on the oven running and he asked if I was in the car.  I asked how he was, and my very literal minded father answered the question: he’s fine, the bandages are off, etc.  After about five minutes of the update on him, as I’m thinking the conversation is about to wind down, he says, “Your mother isn’t doing so well.”
“Why?” I ask.  “She had the MRI … yesterday?”
“Yes,” he said.  “It turns out she’s not having ocular migraines.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it seems that she’s had a stroke.”

?whatthefuck?

Long story … and, yes, this is a long story … short: she had a mini-stroke, and it has caused some damage to the part of her brain that controls the vision.  They’re trying to devise ways of keeping the vision problems from happeneing — and I’m unclear about whether she’s having occular migraines that are caused by the damage, or whether it’s something else altogether.  And apparently, as mini-strokes go, it was a mild one, and there is a possibility that she’ll regain function in the damaged part of her brain.

Needless to say, she’s freaked out.  So am I.

By the time I got off the phone last night, I was no longer suspicious — I know for certain: the stars are just aligned badly.  Everyone I know has had a spectacularly shitty month … and y’know what?  It’s time for this shit to be over.

And that’s been my week.  How was YOURS?

It’s not paranoia if the universe really is conspiring against you.

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

It all began with the shortribs.

A few days ago, I was cruising through the grocery store and saw beef shortribs on sale, and I was reminded of a recipe for curried short ribs that I’d seen in a recent issue of Cooking Light, the only cooking magazine that I actually subscribe to.  In addition to liking spicy food, I remembered the recipe because it involved a crock pot, and I also enjoy the concept of having dinner waiting when I get home.

I bought some of the shortribs and, Wednesday night, I diligently went through the steps to get them ready so that when Ray left the next morning, all he’d need to do is take the crock pot insert out of the fridge and push “start.”

I remembered thinking when I put everything together that it didn’t seem like there was that much liquid in the basin, but … well, the people that do these things have to know what they’re talking about, right? After all, one of the final steps in the process involved creating a serving sauce out of the cooking liquid.  I assumed/hoped that the remaining liquid was supposed to come out of the meat itself and took that leap of faith.

This was my first mistake.

I came home yesterday hoping to smell the pleasant odor of succulent shortribs that had been slow cooking all day.  Instead, I smelled charred meat.  I casually went through the motions of taking off my jacket, putting my phone on to charge, and emptying out my backpack before venturing over to the crockpot — after all, if the meat really was charred, another minute wasn’t going to make a difference after six hours in the crockpot, now, was it?

I was half right: the sauce had congealed and was now a black, crusty, burned mess all over the base of the crock pot.  The meat, however, past a crunchy outer shell was still pretty tender and moist.  This isn’t to say that I didn’t have a moment where I considered tossing the whole thing out and texting Ray to pick up something from Taco Bueno on the way home from class.

However, I perservered, shredding the beef and cobbling together a red curry and vegetable sauce to go with it.  Fortunately, Ray actually enjoys cremated beef, and I’m not enough of a connoisseur to know the difference (I’ve only recently, tentatively, re-introduced dead cow into my diet after years of avoiding it).

The crock pot, by the by, is still soaking in the sink — I haven’t managed to get all of the black stuff off yet.

So I came into work this morning and realized that my desk was beyond messy and that it was finally time for me to do something about it.  While in the midst of clearing off paperwork dating to the late Neolithic period from my desk, I heard a thunk behind me.  I turned around to discover that my bookcase, which I wasn’t working with … or touching … had chosen that exact moment to collapse downward: the textbook-laden top shelf had given way downward, thus causing the shelf below to collapse onto the shelf below it, and so on.  Given that the whole thing looked like it was about to pitch forward, I immediately turned my attention to that situation immediately, discovering after repeated trial and error that the force of the downward pressure was pushing the sides of the bookcase out, meaning that the shelves weren’t reaching their mounts.

At one point, there were papers strewn all over the desk and chair, books on the floor and loveseat, and me looking like I wanted to cry in the middle.  When I vented about this to Ray later, he asked, “Did you take a photo?  Sounds like good blog material.”

Which it was, but let me assure you, dear readers, that the presence of mind I would have needed to think of that at the time was far, far away.

When I finally managed to get it all cleaned up–and I did manage to get it all cleaned up, I sat down at my desk, whereupon the speakers that I have mounted to the underside of the hutch that runs over my computer speakers promptly fell off with a loud clatter.

And so, speakers remounted, bookcase put back together, desk now clean and presentable, I am doing the only thing that I can think to do next: whine about it to as many people as possible.

Don’tcha feel lucky?

So, three gueros walk into a coqui joint …

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009

We land in San Juan.  Uneventful, except for the clear-air turbulent jump the plane does on the way down.  I can almost make out Morro Castle looming over the entrance to the harbor as we touch down.

I won’t lie – we’re all tired.  The sun went down about halfway through the 2 hour flight from Fort Lauderdale and, from that moment on, we were all looking at our watches.  “Are we there yet?”

The baggage claim at the airport is big and empty and there’s lots of room for rental car desks … there just aren’t any.  We have to take a shuttle a couple of miles to the rental car agency, which is on the frontage road (“Marginal” in the local parlance) of the freeway out of town.  As the shuttle pulled away from the terminal, “Inmortal,” the latest single from La Oreja de Van Gogh, my latest Europop/rock guilty pleasure, started blaring on the radio.  Yay.

It’s Natalie’s birthday today.  I knew she wasn’t happy that she had to spend her birthday in airports, so I stopped off to get a nice slice of cake before we went to the airport, and on the flight from Austin to Fort Lauderdale, we had the flight attendants serve it to her, and the purser had the entire plane sing.  (Never mind the incident where Ray went up front to ask them to do it and they reacted … well, he was moving kind of quickly and was holding my briefcase.  Thank god there were no air marshals on board).

Her birthday also got us a 10% discount on the rental car.

The guy at the rental car place was plenty chatty, which made up for the “You’re in Latin America now” speed of service.  We asked about dinner — we’re all in our traveling clothes, and it’s late.  We were all somewhat of the opinion that we needed to stop on the way to the hotel because once we got to the hotel … we weren’t likely to leave again.  (It wasn’t the wrong assumption).

“You should go into Old San Juan,” he says.  We all look at each other.  Old San Juan is fancier than we’re wanting to be tonight.  “There’s this barbecue place down the street.  The food is good.”

The barbecue place–Bebo’s–is across the street from McDonald’s.  All the McDonald’s employees are eating there.  It’s the sort of place where there’s no menu, no air conditioning, and … well, it’s a good thing that Puerto Rico isn’t a state because the health inspection ….

After a bunch of locals rattle off their orders with no fuss or muss, the lady behind the counter turns to us.  “Is there a menu?” we ask in our worst Spanish.  She half rolls her eyes and gestures at the trays of roasting meat.

We wind up with a plate of roast pork (scrumptious), a plate of roast chicken that could melt in your mouth (I believe my reaction was, “Oh … my … god … “), two grilled plantains, and a plate of french fries.  We are the only white people in the joint.  No one gives us a second glance.  It’s likely the cheapest meal we’ll have here.  And maybe it was the tired, and maybe it was definitely the fact that it was our first meal on the island, but it was goood.

And now we’re at the hotel.  And it turns out that you can get free internet at a 5-star hotel.  Who knew?

I can’t wait to see what this place looks like in the daylight.

 

Blog Theme by LJP & SLR Lounge